


Pillow Talk

by Galactic_Dragoness



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Slyfox - Freeform, Will add tags as they come, bentley and murray are mentioned but not in it...yet, carmelita fox - Freeform, lord help me I'm back on my bullshit, sly cooper - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25278130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galactic_Dragoness/pseuds/Galactic_Dragoness
Summary: Night was their battlefield, their playground, the stage of their eternal game.But when the game ends, and only the night remains, what were they exactly?AKA: Let's see how many times Sly can break into Carmelita's apartment until he gets shot.
Relationships: Sly Cooper/Carmelita Fox
Comments: 27
Kudos: 59





	1. Night 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elinadsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinadsy/gifts), [Brightest_Moonstone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightest_Moonstone/gifts).



> Yeah, I seem to have very bad habits. Habits that include starting new fics before finishing old ones and writing way too much slyfox stuff shamelessly.
> 
> Based off the song "Pillowtalk" by Zayn Malik. (Preferably the No Sleep Remix)
> 
> Enjoy!

_Pillow talk_

_My enemy, my ally._

_Prisoners._

_Then we're free, it's a thin line._

* * *

She comes home at 1:24 am, exhausted and bitter from the day’s abuses. She flicks on a few lights in her apartment, illuminating the way as she makes a beeline to her bedroom. Her stomach grumbles in protest at the lack of food, but she sharply dismisses it.

Carmelita Fox enters her bedroom, drops her bag on the bed, and opens the drawers to her dresser, removing a pair of summer pajamas. The young fox woman then marches to the bathroom adjacent to her room, and leaves the door slightly ajar.

She twists the knobs of her shower, turning on the water, and undresses. Carmelita undoes her blue braid and looks at herself in the mirror. 

Angry amber eyes stare right back at her as the shower hisses, steam building up in the small room. How could it be that her appearance, her body, seemed to hold more respect from others than her badge, her achievements?

She hates it: being valued for her beauty instead of her brain. Being seen as a sex object by many, many men. The pigs at her precinct whispering and gossiping behind her back about-

_No. No more. The day is done._

She steps into the shower and sighs in relief as hot water gently rushes over her body. Carmelita shuts her eyes and changes her position, letting the water hit her face and wash away what remains of today.

Carmelita reaches for the shampoo and uncaps it. As she massages the liquid against her scalp, the gears of her brain begin to slow down in an attempt to relax and prepare for sleep. The vixen tries to think of planning for tomorrow: the report regarding last week’s homicide, the case about the recent string of Parisian burglaries, the meeting with Inspector Panther...

Carmelita hisses in annoyance at the thought of meeting with the large black mammal. He was a decent, married gentleman, but he always asked her about the robberies involving... _him_.

She doesn’t dare to delve deeper into thinking about _that damn thief._ Every time _he_ comes up in conversation it makes her teeth grind and her blood boil. 

He was her worst enemy. He was the reason why she could never, _ever_ seem to advance further in her career. If by some miracle he was caught and sentenced by herself, it would be her golden ticket: she would gain an unbelievable amount of status and respect.

Carmelita absentmindedly takes the soap bar off its perch and gently rubs it on her fur, the lather cleansing her and the sweet scent filling her nose. 

Tomorrow is another day. Another day ripe with possibilities.

Perhaps she’ll get lucky.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Carmelita walks out of her bathroom in her pajamas, hair wrapped in towel and smelling of lavender. She sits on her bed and opens her satchel, removing the various items within.

As she sorts through her things, her mind begins to wander away from work. Her refrigerator was almost bare, she was due for a trip to the grocery store. And it had been a while since she had gotten a haircut, she would eventually have to set up an appointment with her salon of choice a few blocks away. Maybe in a few weeks.

Carmelita replaces most of her things, discards of crumpled up sticky notes and tissues, and puts her satchel next her nightstand. She plugs the charger in her phone, and takes her pistol and puts it in her nightstand drawer - a routine precaution against possible intruders.

It’s never happened, her apartment being broken into. But after the incident regarding the theft of the case file from her office regarding... _him_ , she can never be too careful.

The woman clenches her fists in annoyance. She wishes she could turn back time and have found a way to have had better security. After the file had been stolen and she had failed to catch _him,_ she had gotten quite an earful from the chief and had been the laughingstock of the HQ for a good month.

_God_ , she hates _him_ . His stupid smirk and his stupid taunts. But what she absolutely hates the most is the _flirting_ . How dare he be so _unprofessional_?! How dare he treat every interaction as a dating event?! How could he-

Carmelita viciously derails that specific train of thought. _It won’t solve anything_ , she counter-thinks bitterly. The next time he steals something, she’ll have a bullet with his name on it. She could only prepare for the next encounter.

Carmelita unravels the towel from her damp hair and tosses it near the bathroom door. Her body starts to relax and prepare for sleep, so she shuffles around her apartment, shutting off lights and drawing curtains and making sure everything is locked. 

When she’s satisfied, she heads back into her room and climbs into the neatly made bed, pulls the covers over her, and shuts off the light on her nightstand. 

Carmelita lies in her bed, her thoughts becoming hazy as she slowly slips into unconsciousness. 

One day she’ll do it. One day she’ll catch him and it will all be over.

  
  


* * *

  
  


She smells it first - the musky scent of pine. Her eyes slowly force open and she shifts her body under the covers. Then she hears it: soft, shallow breathing.

Her eyes adjust to the darkness in the room, and she makes out a silhouette against the open window of her bedroom.

_Oh God._

_She remembers this dream. She hates this dream. She’s had it several times._

“What do you want,” she murmurs sleepily.

“Just checking in on my favorite Inspector.”

_Ugh_.

“Breaking and entering into a single woman’s apartment is not only very creepy but illegal,” she says, voice heavy with sluggishness. 

“Well, I am a master thief,” the deep voice replies coolly. “Legality really doesn’t concern me. But if you think that me breaking into your home is too much, I can stop.”

Her left ear twitches. “Will you really?”

He hesitates. “Well...no. I will have to break in if I have to get something from you, like evidence or a file. But if my check-ins bother you: I will respect that.”

There’s a pause.

“Why do you do this,” she asks.

“Why do I do what?”

“I don’t know. Why do you treat everything like a game? Why do you act so...casual?”

He cocks his head, and Carmelita can make out a tail swishing. “Why not?”

“Because it’s unprofessional.”

Carmelita can’t see the man’s expression, but she can sense his eyebrow cocking.

“What would you rather me do instead?”

“Honestly? How about making yourself useful to society?”

He chuckles. “Why don’t you tell that to the one percent that I steal from, who make their money off the backs of others?

Carmelita grits her teeth. “I am not going to debate with a criminal.”

He shrugs. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Which you are preventing me from doing, might I add.”

Another chuckle. “I love our little banters, I really do. It’s what makes this life, my life of crime, worthwhile.

She feels her face flush, just a little.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat but like you said; I’m keeping you up.”

He turns and makes his way toward the open window.

“Why did you choose to steal?”

He stops mid-step. “Why do birds fly?”

“God,” Carmelita hisses. “Even in my dreams you're still a jackass. Just my luck.”

She turns away from the window, away from him.

“I didn’t know you dream about me Inspector. Gotta say I’m flattered.”

“More like you’re a nightmare.”

She expects him to laugh, but there’s no response. Carmelita shuts her eyes and she slips back into the deep waters of sleep.

* * *

The alarm screeches in fury, announcing the arrival of morning, and Carmelita’s eyes snap open. She jumps to her feet and goes through her morning routine: replace gun, don uniform, pack some protein bars, shut the windows-

_Wait_.

**_Wait_ **.

She slowly turns her head to the open window of her bedroom, and on the sill is the Cooper calling card.

At first, all she can feel is disbelief. Then it hits her like a freight train.

Rage.

Carmelita can feel the scream suddenly rising from the back of her throat. So to prevent her neighbors from filing a noise complaint, she grabs the nearest pillow and shrieks into it so hard that it nearly tears it in half.

_He had been here for real._

_He had actually broken in, to her apartment._

_And she had let him get away._

_Again._

The day is already off to a terrible start.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short, I know, but I didn't quite know how to end it...
> 
> I will make no promises on updates, but I will tell you that the next chapter will deal with some more concrete stuff. That aside, this fic will deviate from the canon a little bit, so don't be surprised if you see some inaccuracies.
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcome! It helps me grow as a writer!


	2. Night 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmelita gets a second unexpected visit

Carmelita slams the door to her apartment, the noise echoing off the walls.

She wants to break something. Anything. She stomps to the kitchenette and opens one of the small wooden cabinets and removes a cheap mug.

Carmelita stares at the ceramic mug in her hand. Then in the blink of an eye she violently throws it against the wall, shattering it.

The sound of it breaking snaps her out of her unbridled rage, and she observes the scattered pieces of ceramic on the floor.

Carmelita shuts her eyes.  _ Breathe in, breathe out. _

After a few minutes of breathing exercises, Carmelita opens her eyes and goes to the work cleaning up the mess. She removes a dustpan and brush from the small crevice next to her refrigerator, and sweeps up the broken pieces.

She empties the dustpan into the trash bin, and makes her way to the small closet in the main room, taking out a vacuum cleaner.

Carmelita vacuums the kitchen floor to make sure that nothing remains, and when she’s finished she replaces the vacuum back in the closet.

The fox stands there, in the twilight area between the kitchenette and the living room, staring at where the broken mug was on the floor, unsure of what to do with herself.

She wants to jump in the shower, rid herself of the sins of today, wants to wind down and go to sleep. But that won’t fix her problems, not by a long shot.

At first, she had loved her job: solving cases, catching criminals. From jailing muggers to rapists to murderers, it had always been so satisfying to put away dangerous people and prevent them from harming anyone else ever again.

But it had all changed when she had been assigned the Cooper case.

**_Cooper_ ** .

The thought of his name reignites Carmelita’s temper, and she makes a mad dash to the couch and screams her heart out into one of the cushions.

She yells and screams and curses into the pillow until finally, finally, her voice gives out. Carmelita crumbles onto the apartment floor, onto the synthetic rug, clutching the pillow tightly in her arms.

The vixen sits there, hair wild, face red and breathing heavily. The incident in Krakarov had left her scorned, humiliated, and worst of all: an executive order from the Chief to take vacation leave immediately or risk suspension.

She had been stripped of her badge and her pride. Had been exiled from HQ in disgrace for her disastrous mistake.

All because of that damn kiss.

Tears threaten to fall from her eyes, but she quickly wipes them away. 

_ It’s not worth crying over _ , she thinks.  **_He’s_ ** _ not worth crying over. _

After a good ten minutes of more breathing exercises, Carmelita slowly stands up and drags herself to her bedroom.

She turns on the lights and sits on her bed and thinks. She thinks about Cooper, about herself, about what the hell she’s going to do with two week’s worth of free time.

Instead of a shower, she decides to take a bath instead.

A very long, very hot, soapy bath.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Carmelita steps out of her bathroom in a fresh pair of pajamas, a grey t-shirt with cotton pants to match. 

She goes through her bedtime routine one more time: lock door, shut off lights, close any windows and draw curtains.

When she’s finished, she returns back to her bedroom, crawls into bed and, instead of going straight to sleep, decides to turn on the television on the dresser parallel to her bed.

She flicks through some channels curiously, and settles for a channel playing a classic movie marathon. But she falls asleep twenty minutes into an old noir film.

It’s only a few hours into her sleep cycle that she senses that something is off. And when she switches from REM sleep to light sleep, she realizes that she’s not alone.

Carmelita slowly opens her right eye, and sure enough, there is a dark figure sitting on the other side of the bed, watching the television.

She’s half awake, but awake enough. Carmelita gradually moves her arm to the nightstand, where a taser sits in the drawer. But before she can open the drawer to grab it, the figure speaks.

“I removed it.”

She blinks, and now she’s fully awake because she recognizes that voice anywhere.

Carmelita sits up and turns to the nightstand. But when she opens the drawer, it’s void of any weapon, proving the stranger correct.

She turns back to the silhouette sitting on her bed, anger filling up inside her like a glass of water.

“I like this movie,” the figure says nonchalantly. “If you want we can watch it together and I can catch you up on what you missed.”

“You have ten seconds to get the fuck out of here before I scream bloody murder,” Carmelita growls.

The figure turns to her, part of his face illuminated by the light from the television. “You seem to like giving people ten second head starts.”

“You would know,” she spits. “After all, you love taking advantage of people, don’t you?”

He says nothing, and for a split second Carmelita can see pain in his deep chocolate eyes.

She’s one second away from fulfilling her promise, but before she can release the scream from her throat, he speaks again.

“I came to apologize.”

The fox woman rears her head back in surprise.

He sees the look of shock on her face, and he sighs deeply.

“I will admit what I did in Krakarov was in poor judgement. But by the same token I want you to know that I’m not a monster.”

Carmelita just blinks.

He turns back to the television. “I’m sorry about what happened, and I’m also sorry that because of my actions you were placed on mandatory vacation.”

“How did you-”

“Let’s just say I have my sources and leave it at that.”

There’s a brief pause, filled with tension and uncertainty while the movie plays in the background.

“I want to know why you did it,” Carmelita demands.

The man cocks his head. “Why I did what?”

“The kiss.”

Carmelita can’t see his face, but she can hear his breath catch.

“It was a distraction,” he says a little too quickly.

“ _ Bullshit _ .”

The figure clicks his tongue. “Well, I tried.”

“Do you think this is funny,” Carmelita asks, her voice steadily rising. “Do you just think everything is a  _ fucking  _ game? Handcuffing me to volcanoes, breaking into my home?”

The intruder says nothing.

“Do you enjoy toying with other people’s emotions? Do you enjoy making me look like an idiot? Do you  _ want  _ to hurt me? Is that it?? Because congratulations: you’ve succeeded.”

“Everything was fine until  _ you  _ showed up.  _ I  _ was fine. But not only do you have to make me look incompetent at my job, you have to treat me like every other man treats me when he wants to pick me up. Well guess what Sly Cooper: I am  **_NOT_ ** just some attractive woman you can charm and seduce. I am so much more than that: and I don’t need  _ you  _ to validate my own self worth.”

The raccoon is still silent, watching the television.

Carmelita scoffs. “What? You’ve got no smart remark? No witty comeback?”

“I did it because I wanted to, that’s all.”

“You did what?”

“Kissed you.”

“So...you kissed me because you just wanted to. Because you think you can just do whatever you want.”

“Yeah,” he says. And Carmelita swears that she can hear shame in his voice.

After a few more minutes of silence, Carmelita speaks again.

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t fix this Ringtail.”

“I know.”

“You made me look like a fool.”

“I know.”

“Why are you even still here?”

“Because I want to make this right.”

“Then turn yourself in.”

He shakes his head. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Does it really matter?”

Carmelita’s nostrils flare in annoyance. 

The raccoon turns his head back to face her, and Carmelita’s eyes widen in surprise at the thief’s devastated expression.

“Please forgive me.”

“What makes you think I should?”

“I can do better. I will do better.”

His tone is a little...desperate. And in the back of her mind Carmelita feels a small, small piece of remorse for her verbal assault on him earlier.

Carmelita says nothing in response, and the thief suddenly gets up from his spot on the edge of her bed. He makes his way over to her side and sinks to his knees.

“Please.”

It only takes her a second to release that Sly Cooper, the world famous master thief, is literally  _ begging  _ for her forgiveness.

And it takes her another five seconds to realize how close she is to giving it to him.

It’s astounding to her. One minute she’s furious at him, the next minute she wants to forgive him.

But Carmelita knows it isn’t right.

So she decides to compromise.

“You want my forgiveness?”

“Yes,” Sly breathes.

“What will you do for it?”

“Anything within reason.”

“Then I want you, and your gang, to not steal for one month.”

He blinks in surprise. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. No crimes for one month.”

“May I ask why Inspector?”

“Because I want you to take some time to think about what you did. And I want you think what you’re going to do the next time we run into each other”

He swallows. “I understand.”

“If you can prove to me that you can do this, then you will be forgiven for Krakarov.”

For the first time that night, Sly Cooper cracks a small smile.

“Anything for you.”

Carmelita rolls her eyes, and the thief rises from his position.

“One more thing.”

“Of course,” he replies.

“I want my taser back.”

He shrugs. “Fair enough.” Then he reaches into his red pouch strapped to his thigh and takes it out, handing it to her.

She carefully takes it, and their hands touch, just for a moment.

And then she pulls away, holding the taser in her hands.

He tips his cap, and strolls to the open window.

“See you in a month, Inspector Fox. I won’t let you down.”

The thief then climbs onto the window and leaps out into the night, leaving Carmelita alone again.

Carmelita just stares at the open window for ten minutes, then she replaces the taser, shuts off the television, and lies down in her bed.

But she doesn’t fall back asleep for a good hour.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I think this one's a bit sloppy. I kinda finished this around midnight, so who knows? I might end up going back and fixing a few things.
> 
> Constructive Criticism welcomed!


	3. Night 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmelita gets a third surprise visit, and things get a little hairy.

He keeps his word, and a month passes by without a single crime committed by the Cooper Gang. Carmelita returns to work, head straight and body refreshed, and jumps back on the ball.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, and before she knows it: two years have passed since Krakarov. During that time, Cooper and his pals pull the occasional heist here and there: stealing priceless artifacts or taking down crime lords. But to her surprise, the raccoon seems to avoid Carmelita almost completely. Sure, he leaves her the occasional rose or small gift, along with his calling card after a heist. However, the actual face to face contact between them has been reduced to nothing. He doesn’t even dare to break into her apartment when she’s there alone.

Those are the least of her problems, for right now she’s dealing with her new partner: Constable Neyla. Carmelita hates it: being forced to pair up with a new recruit, and something about Neyla seems...suspicious. Ever since Neyla had shown up and quickly solved several of Carmelita’s cases in a matter of days, she had become the new talk of the headquarters. Not only that, but she had no problem making jabs at Carmelita: spreading rumors, telling lies. 

It makes the vixen furious, and as much as she wants to rip Neyla a new one: she’s on thin ice. Her superiors are already disgruntled about her lack of progress, so she has no choice but to remain self-composed and professional.

Neyla is a threat, yes. But the bigger threat that Carmelita wants to focus on is the Klaww Gang: an up and coming global criminal syndicate with their members having many fingers in many different pies. The Gang’s true intentions are unknown, but it is clear that they mean business. Especially after the robbery involving the Clockwerk parts.

Carmelita shudders at the word  _ Clockwerk _ . Interpol had salvaged what remained of the robotic psychopath and, with no use for the parts, had donated them to a museum in Cairo. But it had been short lived, because not even a week after their arrival: the Klaww Gang had swooped in and stolen them.

The stakeout had been a good idea at first: an attempt to try and see if the Gang would return to tie up any loose ends. But then Cooper had shown up.

When Carmelita had busted out of the sarcophagus, pistol ready, she had not expected Cooper of all people. In fact, the idea of Cooper wanting the Clockwerk parts for himself seemed absolutely absurd. Why on earth would he want the remains of a monster that eliminated his  _ entire family tree _ ? 

She had thrown that thought in the back of her mind at the time, because she had caught Cooper, a well known international thief, in the act of breaking and entering. But then of course,  _ of course _ he had to sink into his old persona, and did not hesitate to drop one of his flirtatious quips.

But then,  _ then _ , Neyla had to let it slip that the Klaww Gang were the prime suspects in the museum robbery. Carmelita had been outraged - how could the tigress have made such a sloppy mistake?? Cooper now had valuable information regarding the theft of the Parts, and knowing the Cooper Gang, they would have no problem getting themselves involved in the Klaww Gang’s business. 

To add insult to injury, Cooper and his crew had quickly escaped, leaving Carmelita absolutely livid. And when Carmelita and Neyla had reported back to their superiors, they had been more focused on Carmelita’s failure to arrest Cooper instead of Neyla’s “small error in judgement.”

The whole ordeal had left the Inspector boiling to the point of overflow, and it takes a good screaming session in her car in the parking garage during her lunch break to calm her down.

* * *

She turns into the parking garage underneath her apartment building, parks her car in its designated spot, and silently exits. Carmelita locks her vehicle and checks her watch, reading  _ 2:13 am. _

Carmelita clicks her tongue in annoyance. As punishment for her recent failure, she had been dealing with a ridiculous amount of paperwork as ordered by the Chief. So for the past week she had been coming home well past midnight.

She walks to the elevator to her building, and presses the button summoning the mechanism. As she waits, she ponders the idea of her bringing a backpack of things to work for next week: clothes, toiletries, necessities. She did have a couch in her office, maybe if she was facing  _ another  _ overtime, she could spend a night?

The thought seems laughable to others, but she was used to being laughed at. After all, she seemed to be the only one in her department that took the job seriously, as compared to her apathetic co-workers

The elevator finally dings, signalling its arrival, and the old metal doors slowly open. She steps inside, presses the button to her floor, and the doors close, carrying her skyward.

When she steps out onto her floor, she makes her way to her apartment door and takes out her keys. But as soon as she inputs her door key into the hole, she senses that something is off.

She’s had this feeling before, and she prays to any God present that whatever waits behind that door isn’t what she thinks it is. 

Carmelita pulls out her gun and slowly turns the key, unlocking the door to her apartment, and opens the door.

She’s met with darkness, but she can smell it, sense it.  _ Musky pine. _

Carmelita groans, and enters her apartment, the darkness swallowing her, and she closes the door. She locks it, drops her bag to the floor, and with her gun in her hand, flicks on the hall light.

The light switches on and there, in her living room,  _ he  _ sits on her couch, waiting for her.

She points her gun to the intruder. “Cooper,” she growls.

He smiles warmly in greeting, unperturbed by the shock pistol aimed at him. “It's been a while Inspector.”

She takes a step closer. “So it has. Though I must admit I was really enjoying you  _ not  _ invading my space.”

The raccoon sighs. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m a thief. A criminal. I don’t really abide by the laws of...well... _ the laws _ . And I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important.”

Her tail begins to increase it’s tempo, indicating Carmelita’s patience is wearing thin. “Then get to the point Ringtail, I don’t have all night.”

He exhales through his nose and slowly gets up from his spot on her couch.

“I need information.”

She scoffs. “What makes you think I’d actually give it to you?”

“Because otherwise Bentley will have to hack into Interpol’s database for it. Which can be easily done, but I wanted to come to you first.”

“I’m flattered.”

He chuckles. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.”

Carmelita rolls her eyes and he continues.

“I need to know more about the Klaww Gang.”

“Well that’s too bad. Because last time I checked, that’s none of your business.”

“Once again: criminal.  _ Everything  _ in the crime world is my business.”

“And once again,” Carmelita retorts. “I don’t share our intel with people like you.”

He frowns and sets his jaw. The raccoon man takes a step forward, his eyes reflecting an unfamiliar emotion.

“Carmelita, this isn’t a game. I  _ need  _ to know about the Klaww Gang.”

“Why? So you can steal the Parts? What do you want with them anyway?”

“They need to be destroyed.”

“Says you.”

He cracks his neck and takes another step forward, and for the first time Carmelita feels a deep sense of unease.

“Do you understand that those parts are the reason why my family is  _ dead _ ?”

“Save me the sob story. You just want to steal from another crime ring, and I won’t let you, not this time.”

There’s a long, ominous silence.

Carmelita shifts her weight nervously. The glare she was receiving from Cooper was enough to make her have second thoughts about that last sentence.

“This is your last chance. Tell me what I need to know.”

“Or what? You’ll hurt me? I’d like to see you try.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t need to. I just want to make this easier, for both of us. If you tell me about the Klaww Gang - then my gang and I can take them down. We get the Parts, and you get the criminals, everyone’s happy.”

“No.”

He scoffs and looks away. “Why are you always like this? Can’t you see I’m trying to do a good thing?”

“Oh,  _ you  _ want to talk about doing a  _ good thing _ ? That’s rich.”

He snaps his head back to her. “You can’t do this forever, Carmelita. Lying to yourself, telling yourself that I’m just as bad as the other scum you arrest. You may be set in your ways, but one day things will change - whether you like it or not.”

Her eyes narrow. “Are you threatening me?”

“No, I’m warning you. It’s only a matter of time before you realize just how grey the world can be.”

“Are you done? Because I’m tired and to be honest? I don’t like being lectured by  _ you _ , of all people.”

He looks at her, eyes hard. Then he turns away and strolls to the open window by her couch.

“I’d thought after my last visit you’d at least try to see things differently. I guess I was wrong.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Carmelita hisses.

The man lifts his leg over the windowsill, half outside. He turns to face her one last time.

“Carmelita…”

“What?”

“Please be careful.”

She lowers her gun and says nothing.

He sighs, lifts his other leg over until he’s completely outside, and then he’s gone, back into the night.

Carmelita stares at the open window, then she crosses the room and promptly shuts it.

But when she’s lying in bed half an hour later, staring at the ceiling in her dark bedroom, she can’t help but wonder if Cooper may have had a point.

She eventually falls asleep, but she dreams about Cooper. And the next morning there are no calling cards on her windowsill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this chapter even though its a bit short, but the next chapter is when the meaty stuff begins.
> 
> Constructive criticism welcomed!


	4. Night 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmelita receives an unexpected guest for the fourth time. They eat, clean, and talk.

The rain pours down on the Parisian streets without mercy, and Carmelita steps out of the taxi in front of her apartment building. She politely bids goodbye to the driver, removes her suitcase, and rushes inside.

Carmelita walks quickly to the elevator in the lobby, avoiding the mailboxes to her left. There was no point in checking; all of her mail was already confiscated as possible evidence.

She presses the button summoning the elevator, and it dings, but before she can step inside, a middle-aged beaver steps out and almost collides with her.

Carmelita avoids eye contact and mutters an apology, then briskly steps aside so that the beaver can exit. But the brown mammal just stands there, looking shocked.

“Inspector Fox? Is that really you?”

Carmelita’s head snaps up, recognizing the voice of her next door neighbor: Benjamin Castor. The woman’s heart sinks like a stone, she had wanted to avoid any contact with any friends or acquaintances until Interpol had fixed the mess that... _she_ had made.

“Good evening Monsieur Castor,” she says solemnly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I am very tired and I don’t really have time to talk.”

The beaver slowly emerges from the elevator, not breaking eye contact. “I see…”

Carmelita nods, then walks into the elevator and presses the button to her floor. As the elevator doors close however, Castor stops the doors with his hand.

“Carmelita,” he says sincerely, his tone cautious. “The other residents and I have heard some...things.”

She clenches her jaw, preparing for any vicious accusations.

“I know you Carmelita,” the beaver continues. “And despite everything on the news and the interviews with the police, I don’t think any less of you after all that’s happened.”

Carmelita just blinks.

The beaver sighs and removes his hand. “Don’t be a stranger, Inspector. You know me and my wife Beatrice will be there if you need anything at all.”

The pity reflected in his eyes as he speaks makes Carmelita furious. But she simply looks at him and says nothing as the steel doors close, taking her away.

* * *

Carmelita slowly opens the door to her apartment, the familiar smell of her home hitting her like a bullet train, and she almost crumbles to her feet at the relief.

She closes the door and locks it, setting her suitcase aside, and looks around. It’s only been six months, but it feels like six years. She approaches her furniture in the living room, noting the dust covering many, many surfaces. 

Carmelita inspects every corner of the apartment, unsure of what she’s looking for. She tells herself that she needs to get re-accustomed to her apartment since it’s been so long, but something in the deep crevices of her mind disagrees.

She opens her fridge and freezer, and upon seeing them almost barren save for a few condiments, decides to forgo a meal. She’s not that hungry anyway.

Carmelita goes to her bedroom and turns on the light. The bed is neatly made, just as she left it right before she traveled to India, but it smells...stale. She decides that she’ll sleep on the couch tonight and change the sheets tomorrow when she wakes up.

The vixen checks the bathroom, which is mostly clean, and the idea of a quick shower strongly appeals. She’s long overdue for one, and when she strips and turns on the water as hot as it can go, she feels as if a huge weight has been withdrawn from her back.

The quick shower isn’t quick at all, and for the first ten minutes she just lets the water pour down on her as she stares at the tiled wall. She’s not sure what to think, how to feel, the past forty-eight hours have been a complete blur.

She eventually notices how soggy her fur becomes, so she quickly takes every bath product surrounding her and scrubs from top of her scalp to her toes, as if she’s desperately trying to rid herself of something...anything.

After Carmelita rinses off all the soap, she shuts off the water, and steps out. She grabs the nearest towel and hastily dries off her fur and hair. 

But when she’s finished and replaces the towel back on the rack, the young woman finds herself staring at her somewhat foggy reflection in the bathroom mirror.

_God_ , she looks exhausted. 

Her fur, now slightly less damp, feels coarser than it was before. And she was severely underweight, her ribs jutting out like hills on the apricot and cream colored terrain that was her body. Her hair, now wet from her shower, makes her look and feel like a drowned rat.

But then she meets her eyes in the mirror, and Carmelita honestly just wants to break down and sob.

How could this have happened?

How could _Interpol_ have let this happen?

And Carmelita’s thoughts come crashing down like an avalanche, hitting her all at once that she actually almost collapses. 

She wants to quit, she wants to sue, she wants everything to go back like the way it was.

But how can it?

_Baby steps_ , something whispers from the crevices of her thoughts.

She shuffles out of the bathroom naked, the cold air chilling her, and goes to her dresser. She dons a pair of pajamas - a navy blue tank top with fluffy gray sweatpants.

Carmelita slowly, slowly, walks - almost like a zombie - out of her bedroom and to the living room. She removes two blankets from the linen closet in the hall, and takes them to the couch.

She wraps both blankets around her shoulders and sits down, staring at the floor.

She wants to go to sleep, but for the first time, she’s afraid. Afraid of what godforsaken dreams her broken mind will create to pour salt into the large open wound.

Carmelita looks around her apartment. She hasn’t unpacked, the curtains are open, the furniture is dusty, and the lights are still on. She won’t be able to sleep with her home in this state.

She doesn’t really care.

* * *

Hours pass, of tossing, turning, and staring at the ceiling - Carmelita desperately trying to ignore her thoughts, which remind her of freight trains passing by: loud and fast.

But then, all of a sudden, her brain goes on high alert. It’s like a sixth sense - from years of training and police work - something is wrong. She can feel a disturbance.

And, in the back of her mind, she knows what’s coming.

_Who’s_ coming.

She closes her eyes, bracing herself. He’s the last person she wants to see, but she’s far too tired to actually try to stop him from entering.

As if on cue, she hears a soft _click_ , and the opening of a window a meter or two from her couch.

Carmelita keeps her eyes shut and listens as the intruder plants his feet softly on the floor and navigates himself inside her apartment. He slowly shuts the window, trying to avoid any noise, which is pointless because she’s awake, but something tells her that he already knows that.

He takes several quiet steps forward, and Carmelita’s eyes snap open and she gradually sits up from her spot on the couch. She looks at the intruder right in the eyes, who stares back at her.

His shoulders are hunched, his body tensed up, unsure of what’s about to happen. He wasn't expecting this.

The air is still, and the smell of musky pine finds its way to Carmelita’s nose.

“I knew you would come,” she simply states.

He swallows hard and says nothing.

Carmelita examines him carefully. He’s wearing a tight dark blue shirt and dark gray pants, black boots, gloves, and his trademark domino mask and hat. His golden cane is in one hand, and a dark slingpack on his back. 

He looks the same as ever, except his chocolate eyes seem to have...aged. It’s almost like he’s become older from after everything that’s happened.

A minute of silence passes, and since the intruder continues to forgo speaking, Carmelita decides to just go with it.

“What do you want?”

The man blinks, and he removes his slingpack. He takes a few steps toward her, but careful not to get too close, and holds out his bag to her.

The woman hesitates, just for a second, and against her better judgement takes the bag from his arms.

She looks at him, and his eyes dart to the bag then back to her, a silent way of telling her that whatever’s inside is for her.

She slowly unzips it, and looks in the bag. Then she cocks an eyebrow.

Carmelita reaches and pulls out several items: a plastic bag full of croissants, a bottle of honey, apples, bananas, a water bottle, and instant cocoa.

She looks up at him, confusion written all over her face.

“Why?”

The intruder inhales through his nose and speaks.

“Because you’re probably hungry.”

Her eyes narrow. “Did you steal this?”

His eyes reflect offense at the question, but he holds his tongue and shakes his head.

Carmelita looks at the food warily, and a sharp pang in her stomach reminds her that she hasn’t eaten in quite some time. 

“Well,” she says. “Thank you for the food. You can go now.”

“No.”

Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

The intruder takes a deep breath. “I’m not leaving until I fix this.”

“Fix what?”

“The mess I made, the mess I left behind for you to clean.”

“You can’t.”

“I can try.”

A wave of nostalgia hits her, from over two years ago when he dropped to his knees and begged for her forgiveness after Krakarov.

Carmelita sighs softly. If he wanted atone, then what kind of person would she be if she refused him?

“You were right, I am hungry.”

She replaces the food back in the slingpack and stands up. 

“I don’t suppose you’d like a croissant?”

The intruder studies her carefully, unsure if what she’s doing is a ruse or a trap. 

“That would be nice.”

Carmelita walks to the kitchenette with the slingpack.

“I’ll warm the croissants in the oven, do you think you can prepare the cocoa using the coffee machine?”

“I can do that.”

“Would you like butter on your croissant? I think I still have some in the fridge…”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the thief and the detective are sitting across from each other at the small table, eating their food silently. Carmelita can’t take her eyes off him, and the thief looks anywhere but straight at her.

_What was she doing?_

She was dining with a criminal.

_Arrest him!_ A voice screams at her from her thoughts. _What’s wrong with you?! He’s right there!_

But she simply silences the thought and continues to eat her croissant.

When they finish, Carmelita puts the dishes and mugs in the sink, and turns back to the young man sitting at her table.

“Cooper, look at me.”

He obeys and stares at her, eyes wide, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Thank you for the food,” he says very quickly.

“You’re welcome.”

“So...now what?”

_Now you go to jail_ , part of her wants to say.

But she doesn’t say it.

_Baby steps._

“Now,” she murmurs, “you help me clean my home.”

He expects him to look shocked, but he just blinks.

“Okay.”

The thief gets up from his seat. “What should I do?”

Carmelita makes her away across the apartment and opens a linen closet, removing a duster, broom and dustpan.

“I’d like you to dust off all the surfaces and furniture that need it, and when you’re done I’d like you to sweep up the floors in the kitchenette and living room.”

The raccoon nods his head slowly.

“I’m going to clean my bedroom and bathroom, let me know when you’re done with your section and then you can help me put new sheets on my bed.”

“Okay.”

She hands Cooper the tools, and walks down the small hallway to her bedroom and bathroom. 

Carmelita removes the sheets and pillowcases from her bed and discards them in the laundry bin. Then she takes her small suitcase from the corner of her room and unzips it, removing her clothes and toiletries and replaces them in their proper locations.

Thirty minutes pass, of cleaning and tidying, and Cooper raps on her bedroom door. 

“I’m finished.”

“Great, now help me with the sheets.”

She removes a new pair of sheets and pillowcases from the drawers under the bed, and gestures to the mattress. The two of them make the bed, saying nothing to each other.

When they’re done, Carmelita plants her hands on her hips, satisfied with the work.

“Thank you for your help,” she utters, not making eye contact with the raccoon.

“You’re welcome.”

“You can leave now.”

“I don’t want to.”

She huffs in exasperation and turns to him. “What do you want? You want to stay and play house with a cop? This isn’t a game, Sly. We’re done, now _go_.”

“I’m sorry.”

Carmelita scoffs. “For what?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. India, Prague, Canada, Ney-”

**_“DON’T.”_ **

He looks fearful from the tone of her voice and takes a step back. She covers her eyes with her hand and sighs.

“Don’t say her name,” she breathes.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. I don’t want your apologies.”

“Then what can I do?”

“You can leave.”

“Carmelita, please, let me fix this-”

**“THERE IS NOTHING TO FIX!”** She violently snaps at him, and he winces at her reignited anger.

He tries to speak but she cuts him off.

_“Sylvester William Cooper, this is_ **_beyond_ ** _fixing. My life was ruined by you! I went to prison and was tortured because of you! You used me! You deceived me! And when I actually sit down and pour out my heart to you when it is over, you_ **_leave_ ** _me!”_

Sly looks devastated, and the emotional dam holding Carmelita together crumbles. Tears run down her red face as she continues to scream at him, her voice cracking.

“I can’t do this anymore! Everything is just a game to you! Well I’m not playing! I have given you so many second chances, thinking you could change, and you’ve let me down every time! We’re **done** ! It’s **over**!”

The thief mirrors her emotions, with tears streaming down his face. But he lets her continue her vicious tirade in silence.

“You have proved to me again and again that you are not someone who will change. So I am moving on without you! I don’t even _care_ if you love me or not, _because I am so out of love with you_!!”

His eyes widened in horror. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, you want to try me?! **_I dare you to tell me that you love me_ **.”

He says nothing, and tears continue to fall off his face on the wooden floor.

“Sly, if you _really_ care about me that much, then leave and never come back.”

“Carmelita, please don’t do this.”

“Ten. Nine. Eight.”

He shuts his eyes and chokes back a sob. Then the raccoon turns around and sprints down the hallway.

The woman finishes her countdown, and briskly walks down the hall to find him gone, with only an open window as evidence of his break-in.

Carmelita’s emotions suddenly overwhelm her, and she collapses on the floor in tears.

Years of pent up feelings finally catch up to her, and instead of feeling better because of the lack of her criminal, she just feels worse.

The fox woman lays there, sobbing into the wooden floor, and eventually when her tears run out and she loses her voice, she notices that the sun begins to peek through the window.

She slowly gets up from the floor and checks the clock.

As if in a trance, she shuffles to her bedroom, removes the mobile phone from its charger, and calls her boss.

But before he can yell at her for disturbing her during the early morning hours, she hammers the final nail in the metaphorical coffin with six words.

“Remove me from the Cooper case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit I got this done in six hours when I should've been sleeping. RIP me. Also, thank you so so much for all the lovely kudos and comments!


	5. Night 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmelita is sent to Venice to deal with Don Octavio, and she gets yet another unexpected visit.

Almost a year later, Inspector Carmelita Fox finds herself in Venice, Italy with a new promotion and a new team of mercenaries to help her deal with Don Octavio and his organized crime ring. At first the case had been promising, then she kept hitting roadblocks due to a good chunk of the Venetian force in the Don’s pocket. But they dared hadn’t tried anything on Carmelita herself, since she had her own little personal army of gorillas with very large guns.

That is, until she had received new information after one of her evening patrols that Octavio had attempted a hit on her through the Blue Viper gondola gang.

Her mercenaries, despite the fact that they were funded through Interpol, had taken no chances. They had insisted on having her stay in the headquarters and assigning her a personal watch for the first few days until Interpol could have her relocated. But after two nights of sleeping on the couch in her office and living off vending machines - Carmelita finds herself breathing a huge sigh of relief when she enters her new temporary apartment for the first time.

Her relief quickly turns into slight disappointment when she walks around the space, inspecting it. It wasn’t as nice as her apartment back home in Paris, but it was...acceptable.

She drops her bags on the bed and stretches - checking her watch. It was late, and tomorrow she had a handful of meetings and paperwork to deal with.

But as Carmelita begins to unpack her suitcases and puts away her clothes and supplies, her thoughts wander back to... _him_.

Again.

After their “fight,” he had seen to it to avoid any contact with her whatsoever, which she appreciated. There were no heists, the only notable robbery taking place in a small museum in another part of Italy. However, there was no calling card, even though the MO was right up his alley. But it wasn’t even her case anymore, so she didn’t care.

But when she had finally thought he had moved on to other things, he had re-appeared. In Venice. 

_“You’ve got some serious nerve showing up in my squadroom,” she barked at him._

_“I was concerned we were growing apart,” he shouted back insincerely. His eyes reflect pain rather than amusement._

_“Yeah? Well we can fix that - we can spend a lot of time together once you’re in a holding cell.”_

_He didn’t respond, and Carmelita aimed and fired her shock pistol. But he easily dodged it. And he took off across the streets and canals, and she followed him. Right until he jumped into a manhole._

_“Yeah, that’s right, hide in the sewers like the rat you are!”_

The encounter from a few days ago was still fresh in her mind, and it leaves more questions rather than answers.

_Why was he here?_

_What did he want?_

_Was he connected to Octavio?_

_Did she even care anymore?_

Carmelita tells herself no, she doesn't care. 

But she doesn’t believe herself either.

* * *

  
  


Carmelita steps out of the shower in the small bathroom, drying herself off with a towel. She dons her pajamas, and runs a hand through her damp cobalt hair. The vixen opens the door to the bathroom, and walks out-

She screams. First out of fear, then surprise, then anger.

Sly Cooper is sitting on her bed, twirling his cane in his hands, ears up and eyes wide.

Carmelita blinks. Once, twice. The silence after her scream deafening.

Then her emotions crash into her.

She wants to hit him, she wants to hug him.

She opts for a third option.

“I told you to never come back,” she states simply.

“I know, but I can explain…”

“ **_No_ **. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care. You’re under arrest.”

“Carmelita, wait-”

She doesn’t wait. Instead, she sprints at him.

But Cooper was faster. He jumps to his feet, ready to defend himself as she collides with him. The two of them fall backwards on the bed and struggle for several minutes. For a split second, Carmelita pins him, but she underestimates his strength, and he swiftly pins her down and flips her over, restraining her.

She hisses and curses and screeches in fury, but the thief does not release her.

“Carmelita, please, hear me out-”

“ _Why_ ? So you can gain my sympathy, my _trust_ ? So you can _use_ me again??”

“Carmelita-”

“I don’t want anything to do with you! My life was fine until you showed up again!”

“Listen-”

“ _NO_ ! I don’t want to hear anything you have to say! **_I HATE YOU!_ **”

**_“I AM NOT HERE FOR YOU!!!”_ **

The screamed sentence silences Carmelita immediately. 

“For once in my life _Inspector,_ I didn’t follow you all the way to Venice. You wanted me gone, so I left. And now I’m back, but not for _you_.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Murray.”

Confusion crosses the fox woman’s face. “Murray?”

“Yes. My friend Murray, he’s here and he needs my help, or he won’t come back.”

“I - I don’t understand.”

She turns her head to get a better look at him. The raccoon man seems...tense. Pained even. 

Carmelita does some quick thinking, and a conclusion pops into her mind.

“Did something happen? Did you and Murray have a fight?”

“There was no fight,” he replies coldly. “He left, and I need him to come back.”

“He _left_? Why?”

“Why do _you_ care? It’s not like you’ve ever been concerned with my friends before.”

She scoffs. “Are you for real? You _broke_ into my apartment, and you haven’t even told me why yet. And if you really aren’t in Venice just to see _me_ , then why bother me at all?”

“Because despite everything I still care about you, even if you don’t give a damn about me. Otherwise Bentley and I wouldn’t have dealt with the Vipers.”

There’s a long, _long_ pause. And the puzzle pieces in Carmelita’s mind click together all at once. 

“You...saved me?”

Sly says nothing.

She closes her eyes and exhales. “You knew about the hit, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. I know you don’t like being the damsel in distress, but I had to step in. There wasn’t enough time to warn you-”

“Let me go.”

“What? No. You attacked me.”

“My gun and handcuffs are in the nightstand,” Carmelita states. “If you withhold them from me - will that be enough for you to trust me for five minutes?”

“...what are you getting at?”

She huffs in annoyance. “I’m running out of patience Ringtail. Can you trust me or not?”

Another pause.

“You called me Ringtail.”

“So?”

A small grin flashes across his face. “I haven’t heard you call me Ringtail in a long time.”

Suddenly, the weight pressing down on Carmelita disappears. She slowly pushes herself up from the bed and turns around to see Sly Cooper holding her gun and handcuffs.

She looks at him, unsure what to think. Then she pats the spot next to her on the bed.

“Sit down. We need to have a talk.”

He cocks his eyebrow, but complies. The thief cautiously sits down next to her on the bed, making sure that her pistol and cuffs are out of reach.

There’s a brief silence. Carmelita gazes at the floor, her mind at war with itself. She wants answers, she wants to arrest him, she wants him to account for everything that happened under a year ago.

She turns her sight to Sly Cooper, who sits there next to her - knee bouncing and cane in hand. He stares at her, waiting for her to say something, anything.

He had saved her life, yet again. And she knows it’s not because he expects her to return the favor. 

So she might as well be cooperative.

“Okay,” she says. “First, explain why Murray left.”

He bites his lip and looks away briefly. “He was upset.”

“About?”

“Bentley’s injury.”

Her brows furrow. “I think...yes, I remember. He was unresponsive when I arrested you, when you turned yourself in so they could walk. But why was he upset about that?”

“Because…”

“Because?”

He takes a deep breath. “Bentley...he can’t walk anymore. He’s paralyzed from the waist down.”

“Wait... _what_?”

The raccoon nods slowly. “Murray blames himself for not being strong enough to prevent it from happening.”

“ _Christ almighty_ , Ringtail. Why the hell didn’t you tell me earlier?!”

“Because you wanted off my case.”

“So?!”

“ _So_ , I assumed you didn’t care.”

She clicks her tongue, irritated. “Well, you made a poor assumption.”

“Listen, we were both upset and emotional. Everything happened all at once.”

“You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to push it. You were already pissed at me for-”

“I know. I know.”

They lock eyes, just for a moment, then Carmelita returns her gaze to the floor.

“So, Murray blamed himself for Bentley’s paralysis. And he just...left?”

“Yes. He said something about trying to find his ‘spiritual center’, whatever that means. So he found a guru in the outback who sent him on a walkabout for training.”

“Are you serious?”

“If I wasn’t why would I be here?”

“Watch it, Ringtail. Remember who you’re talking to.”

He scoffs. “You don’t look like my mother.”

Carmelita rolls her eyes. “So he’s in Venice, now.”

“Yes. His teacher left him specific instructions to stay in Venice until the tar problem is resolved.”

“Which I’m trying to deal with, but the Venetain police here are uncooperative. So Interpol stepped in.”

“And here we are.”

“And here we are.”

She looks back at him. “So when Don Octavio is dealt with, Murray will rejoin your gang?”

“Correct.”

“If you’re here just for Murray, why did you break into my apartment? Follow up question: how did you even find my location? I _just_ got relocated.”

Sly says nothing.

“Cooper, answer me.”

“I broke in because...I was worried.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know...I just- when I heard about the hit, I got scared.”

“I gave you specific instructions not to find me.”

“You know I don’t take instructions well.”

There’s a brief pause.

“To answer your second question,” Sly continues. “Bentley hacked into your local database network. I asked him to.”

“Of course he did,” Carmelita replies bitterly.

Another pause.

“Carmelita.”

“Yes?”

“Are you still angry...about the Clockwerk debacle?”

“Why are you asking? Because you want my forgiveness?”

“Honestly...yeah.”

“And do you think saving my life makes everything forgiven?”

“...probably not.”

She looks at him, and he looks at her with sad, chocolate eyes.

“Well,” Carmelita says. “As you can see I’m still alive. You can go now.”

He closes his eyes, defeated. “Okay.”

The two of them both get up from the bed, and Sly walks towards the window.

Carmelita looks down at her gun and cuffs laying on the bed, then looks back at the thief, who unlocks the bedroom window.

“Ringtail.”

He freezes. “Yes?”

“You can save my life a thousand times, but if you really want my trust back, you’re going to have to try something else.”

“...I understand.”

He looks at her and opens the window.

“Thank you for listening, Inspector.”

Carmelita just folds her arms and nods curtly.

Sly Cooper lifts his leg over the sill, and in the blink of an eye, he’s gone.

The vixen stands there, staring at the open window, her mind reeling. After a few minutes pass, she snaps out of thoughts, and puts away her gun and handcuffs in the nightstand.

She locks her door, shuts off the lights, and climbs into the dingy bed.

And when she wakes up the next morning, she realizes that she had left the window open that night.

She doesn’t care.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally am not a fan of this chapter. It just seems a bit weak in my opinion. But maybe I'm just too self-critical, I don't know. Also, I did not expect this chapter to come out within a week's time, but I had some energy.
> 
> Anyways, I am going to deviate from the Sly canon a bit so this story makes a bit more sense. So if you read something that really isn't accurate - remember that it's on purpose. 
> 
> One thing I've noticed in my writing is that I repeat a lot of words and phrases, and I'm trying to break out of that habit, but it's hard.
> 
> Constructive criticism welcomed! Your feedback helps me improve, so don't hold back! Just don't be mean about it!


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